Faces of the Future
by Rose McFagen
Summary: A story of an elf in modern times, and the choices she must make to be happy in love. (Story isn't nearly as cheesy as this summary)
1. Changes

_Okay, so this isn't very good, but it's an idea I've been throwing around for a few months now. This first part is really short, but I hope to add more chapters later. I've had good feedback on this story from those I've forced to read it. And yea, enjoy._  
  
Lord of the Rings was written by J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot and characters are mine.  


"Faces of the Future"  
  
Chapter 1  
**Changes**

  
  
My true name, the one I never tell to anyone, is Indra. In the tongue of my people, it means "long time." Among outsiders, I go by the mortal name of Carmen Parker. I've gone by many other names over the years, but this is the only one I feel is necessary for my story.  
  
My history is a long one, spanning thousands of years. Most everyone in the world today knows that history, the major parts of it, anyway. The trouble is, nobody belies it. They see it as fantasy, written as a work of fiction in the 1950's.  
  
My history is the world's history, whether the people know it or not. It happened centuries before the first human record, before civilization fell and began anew.  
  
The story that most people today know is that of that single Ring whose soul purpose was to ensnare the world with its power. How the Ring was destroyed by a being whose race no longer exists in the world today. I met him once, briefly, though he appeared no more than a child to my eyes. I was young then, by the standards of my people, having only seen two-thousand winters.  
  
When the world was safe again, my people left the world of mortals for ever, all but a few. Not all wished to cross the sea to the Undying Lands. We were few, hardly worth mention in the texts of history. I was one of these, with my elder sister, Mallin. We remained in secret, hiding our identities from the eyes of Men and their kindred.  
  
For centuries, Men prospered while all other races faded away, either dying out or evading the eyes of all. Without this counterbalance, the world Men had created tumbled to ruin. The once great kingdoms split as newly-formed tribes took up their own realms in what are now Europe, Africa, and Asia.  
  
My people divided, as well. Some followed the Mortals to the far reaches of the globe, others preferred to maintain their forests in peace.  
  
These forest-dwellers were well-known, despite their best efforts. Their refuges were in the woods of the British Isles, where they became part of local legend, the Fair Folk that wandered the woods during the night.  
  
As for me, I went with Mallin to the south. We settled in the country now known as Greece, in a village outside of Athens.  
  
I watched the culture grow from nothing. I saw the creation of a new way of life, completely separate from the one that had existed before it. New writings were taken up, and soon the wars of Men that had preceded faded away beyond all memory, except for my own, and that of my kin.  
  
I made my living as a sculptor. The first of many occupations I have experienced over the ages. After I grew tired of working stone and masonry, I moved on to study in the temple of Athena.  
  
I became well versed in the literature of the time, and from my place in the temple, I saw their beliefs take shape. It pained me to see the old ways die out. But, it is a rare chance to see a civilization grow from nothing.  
  
Our stay was relatively short. When the Romans took their hold on the Grecian civilization, we fled to the Kingdom of Egypt, now faded from its former glory. After a brief span of ten years, we finally returned to the islands of the north.  
  
The next two-thousand years were spent in varying parts of the British world. Again, we saw civilizations spring from the earth.   
  
Finally, in December of the year 1957, I decided that it was time to cross the sea. Valinor was not my destination, however, but America. I would have gone much sooner than that, but to take a ship across the ocean would have surely driven me mad.  
  
Others of my kind had made the sea journey, but it was not for me. They had set up, in secret, a way for others of Elf-kind to gain citizenship in America and maintain that status for ever.   
  
Never able to stay in one place for more than ten years at a time, I've seen a great deal of what the United States has to offer, and found that photography makes for a very versatile lifestyle.  
  
At the time of this story, I was working as a photographer for a Chicago-based magazine. A profession that I thought would help me maintain a happy removal from dealing too heavily with mortals. Of course, I was wrong.  
  



	2. Why Does it Rain on Sundays?

**A/N:**_Thanks much for the great feedback! I'm much inspired to keep going. The last chapter was pure background, so that I don't have to go back and explain everything later in the story. The rest of the chapters should follow standard-story format, unless I absolutly _need to clarify something. Don't see that happening, though. Sorry it took so long to get this out, I had to take my chapter to a revision group and stuff... I'll try to be more prompt in the future.  
  
Lord of the Rings was written by J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot and characters are mine.  


"Faces of the Future"  
  
Chapter 2  
**Why Does it Rain on Sundays?**

  
  
I hate to say that it was an ordinary day, but it was. The sky above only shone through in patches, bright cyan bleeding through the dense clouds, giving off an eerie gray-blue color.  
  
My beat-up Nissan Stanza didn't like the rain. It leaked through the cracked window seal onto my hand, poised at the ten o'clock position. My wipers barely pushed the beading water around the windshield, creating patterns that looked a bit like islands in a strange sea.  
  
I glanced down at the AAA road map sprawled across the passenger seat. One finger traced the highway toward a star marked in green ball-point-pen. Next to the star was a number, which matched that of the next exit.  
  
I turned my car into the offramp, opting to downshift rather than brake, as the roads were very slippery. I pulled to a rather jerky stop at the light. I had two choices at this point. Go left and become hopelessly lost in downtown Chicago, or take a right and go the long way around.  
  
I chose the long route.  
  
Fifteen right and three wrong turns later, I pulled to a stop outside a moderately-sized building. It was only three stories high and home to a lesser-known magazine. A monthly periodical that specialized in "local bands" from around the country. It was simply titled, "Homegrown."  
  
I climbed out of my car and locked the door with my keys. I dropped them into my purse, producing a muffled clatter. I allowed myself to stretch my arms and legs. It had been about four hours since I had last stopped. I had plenty of time to kill at that moment, the moving van wasn't scheduled to arrive at my new apartment for another three hours.  
  
So, I decided to check out my new office. I was offered a job as a photographer for the magazine after the owner saw some of my work at an Albuquerque art show. I had been an independent photographer at the time, doing a few professional sessions on the side, weddings, graduations, and the like.  
  
I peered at myself in the car windows. My short brown hair, once long and gracefully curled, was a mess. Feathered strands stood up at odd angles where tired fingers had raked through on empty highways, itching to stretch.  
  
I pushed the fuzz down with my fingers. It took me four tries, but I finally managed to cover my ears.  
  
My ears have always been a problem. Gracefully pointed at the tips, like all of my kind, they frequently stir questions among outsiders. Before recent breakthroughs in medical science, I blamed them on a childhood accident. Later in my life, I explain them as a genetic defect.  
  
I walked slowly towards the glass doors, limping slightly as my left foot continued to tingle as it woke up.  
  
The rain, which had nearly slowed to a stop, spilled over the green vinyl awning, tapping the top of my head as I passed under.  
  
I pulled the door open and stepped into the building. For an air-conditioned space, it certainly felt warm compared to the outside. The room was small, furnished only by three chairs and a desk. Behind the desk, hidden by a large plastic palm-tree, sat a young looking woman with a pale face.  
  
As the door chimed when it shut, she glanced up at me from what I only could assume was a book. Her eyes were a shocking blue, probably enhanced by contact lenses. She snapped her gum and smiled at me in a way that was far too sweet for her dark clothing and purple hair.  
  
"Can I help you?" Behind the desk, she moved, as if marking her place and closing whatever she was reading. She brushed back her hair and smiled again.   
  
"Yes." I was a bit taken aback by this girl. I walked to the desk and laid my elbows on the surface. Leaning in, I crossed one ankle over the other. "I'm looking for Mr. Branson. My name is Carmen Moore." For that was the name I was going by at the time.  
  
One pierced eyebrow lifted and she nodded, pressing a button on the phone and picking up the receiver. She spoke softly into the mouthpiece and hung up the phone. She gestured towards one of the chairs against the far wall. "Please have a seat, Mr. Branson will be out momentarily."  
  
I seated myself in the folding chair, glancing about the room for a better look. Old magazine covers adorned the walls, featuring boys with mohawks and piercings. Across from me there was a water-cooler, bubbling quietly as it settled. I stood and walked up to it, pulling a cone-shaped cup from the dispenser nailed to the faded yellow wall.  
  
I filled the cup with cold water and raised it to my lips just as a door in the back of the room swung open. I glanced over at the man in the doorway. He was middle-aged, with brown hair speckled with pepper. He was dressed in jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt. He grinned and crossed the room to shake my hand.  
  
"Ms. Moore," he said, "I'm so happy to see you again. A bit earlier than I expected, though."  
  
I nodded and drained the cup, dropping the crumbled remains in the garbage can. "I had some time left over before my apartment was ready."  
  
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. This way, please." He smiled again and guided me into the back room, which turned out to be his office.  
  
The office was a good deal smaller than the lobby, with only one window in the back wall. His desk was in the middle, made of metal. Bookshelves of vinyl records, tapes, and CD's lined the walls. The occasional book was amid the media.  
  
I took the seat I was offered, in front of the desk. Mr. Branson sat opposite me and picked up a folder of some of my work that he had purchased in New Mexico.  
  
"Well, you met Judy, she'll be handling all your calls and such." So much for exciting introductions. "There are a few other photographers and a reporter or two, I'm not sure anymore. You'll meet them next weekend at the staff meeting. Nine o'clock Saturday at the Starbucks down on Fort Street."  
  
Gray eyes scanned a calendar on his desktop. "The first thing I want you to do is go down and get some shots at a concert downtown. I'm starting you off local, just until you get settled. Then, maybe, I'll be sending you to more remote locations. Don't worry about talking to any of the band, my reporters are taking care of that. I expect your final prints on Saturday. See you then." He smiled at me and nodded towards the door.  
  
Not exactly a man of many words, but he got his point across. I smiled and walked out of the room, exited the building, and walked back out into the Sunday rain.  
  



End file.
